The Lipstick Trick and Treat
by Mingsmommy
Summary: Response to the Geekfiction Halloween Trick or Treat Challenge. Starts at a Halloween Crime Scene ends as smut. GSR. Mature sexual content. Disclaimer: CSI and All of the characters contained herein do not belong to me, damnit.


Thanks to Nightblight for the Beta, the** multiple **Betas. You're the best!

* * *

"Well, **_Hello,_** ladies!" the Texan addressed them in a richly salacious drawl.

Catherine turned on him causing the ruffles of her costume to swirl around her fishnet stocking clad thighs. "Can it, Stokes. I have my weapon and Sara can kick your ass without one." She was pretending to be her usual brassy self but Nick suspected she was probably thrilled with the reaction of every male member of the police force, fire department and EMT unit at the scene to her and Sara's arrival.

Nick snickered. "If y'all didn't want to be noticed I wouldn't think you'd show up at a crime scene as a French maid and what are you, Sara? A pirate wench? I'll be your buccaneer," he offered with a lecherous grin.

Grissom looked up from where he was photographing a footprint twenty yards away, both his mouth and eyes widening.

Sara stabbed a finger into Nick's muscled chest. "Just a pirate. Drop the wench and don't ever pick it up again." She was fighting a laugh at his exaggerated flirting. Leather pants tucked into leather boots with a peasant blouse had already been a part of her wardrobe and a laced vest she had picked up at the costume shop had completed her costume. She wasn't trying to go for provocative, but the vest had acted as a sort of medieval wonderbra and she was a pirate with some unexpected but quite attractive cleavage. She wasn't used to it but it did make her feel very feminine.

Grissom tried not to stare or at the very least tried to hide the fact that he **_was_** staring.

Catherine blew out an annoyed breath. "We got the call, all hands on deck, 911. What's up?"

"Sheriff's sister's house," Nick jerked his head toward the sprawling ranch where the garage was now a smoldering ruin. The acrid smell of charred wood and burnt plastic hung in the air mixing with the smells of the autumn night. Numerous pumpkins were overturned in the yard with lights extinguished, eyes and mouths dripping water from the fire hoses, facing upward in silent screams and gaping grins pointed towards the sky. From the amount of gooey orange dripping pulp splattered over the house and yard several more had probably met a gruesome end. "It seems the sheriff's niece had a bunch of kids over for a scary movie marathon…you know, too old to trick or treat but too young to party type deals?"

"Yeah, I had one of those going on at my house when the call came in," Catherine sighed. "Halloween followed by Scream followed by Nightmare on Elm Street. I drew the line at The Exorcist. Lindsey made my Mom hand out the candy." She was thoughtful for a moment. "I hope she can handle the delinquents until their parents come get them."

Grissom remembered now, Sara had been surprised and just a little thrilled when Catherine had said the only other adult Lindsey had deemed cool enough to chaperone was the tall brunette.

"Well, luckily, in this case the kids had all decided it would be fun to hand out candy together, so they were all hanging out in the front part of the house when a bomb went off in the garage. I guess this was more about the Trick than the Treat." Nick shrugged and adjusted the glove on his right hand. "It was a rudimentary bomb, not very big, the only fatality appears to be the sheriff's brother-in-law's Porsche." He shook his head, "It's a damned shame to lose such a sweet ride."

Sara's brow furrowed. "No fatalities? Were any of the kids hurt?"

Nick shook his head at her, "Not a scratch, but there were some fairly hysterical fourteen year old girls." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "It was like being back home with my sisters."

Sara continued to study him, puzzled. "So, why all hands on deck, if it's no injuries, no fatalities?"

The Texan looked at her with eyebrows raised. "Darlin', did you miss the part about it being the sheriff's sister's house?"

Catherine nodded. "Oh, yay, politics and pressure." She looked around, "Please tell me somebody has some coveralls in their truck."

Grissom cleared his throat and stood, carefully not meeting Sara's eyes or staring at her face. "I have a couple in the back of the Denali. Catch." He tossed the keys toward Catherine but they went higher than he intended. A long, slim arm encased in billowing white silk shot out and snatched the keys out of the air.

"Thanks;" her tone was even and neutral and he snuck a quick glance at her.

She was not looking at him.

This allowed him a minute to study her face; she was made-up much more than usual, he assumed to go with the pirate costume; heavy black eyeliner, heavy mascara, a silvery eye shadow and she was wearing lipstick.

Holy Mother of God.

She was wearing **_that_** lipstick.

_She had gone to a make-up party that Jacqui had thrown one Saturday afternoon. _

"_A what?" His brow had furrowed in confusion; he had never heard of anything like it._

"_A make-up party…it's like a Tupperware party or a Pampered Chef party, only for make-up. It's one of those things nobody wants to go to, but you go anyway as a sign of support for the friend who's throwing it." _

_He had continued to look at her as if she had just stated the stork really did bring babies or Niels Bohr was bad at math._

_She sighed, "It's a female thing. You have to have two X chromosomes to understand." _

_She had come home three hours later with an incredibly dark red, almost burgundy, lipstick on, bitching about it being too dark for her and it was a long lasting kind and she couldn't get it off. _

_Later that night, the sight of those darkly stained lips around his erection had been one of the most incredibly erotic things he had ever seen. He didn't remember if he had said anything about it or if she had just accurately gauged the reason for his ferocious loss of control. Whatever the reason, the next day she had called Jacqui to add two tubes of the lipstick to her order of a tinted moisturizer and scented hand sanitizer. _

_Just the thought of it caused him to stiffen and he had taken her back to bed as soon as she hung up the phone._

From that point on, whenever she was wearing that lipstick he knew he was about to be blown within an inch of his life. Just the sight of the tube could evoke a physical response from him.

He had never seen her wear it outside of the privacy of his home, but seeing it in public had the same effect on him. He quickly turned away from the others and walked toward the perimeter of the garage pretending to snap pictures as he went his normal bowlegged gait slightly more exaggerated to accommodate his unwelcome erection.

He thought of cold water, vomit, decaying corpses and the atomic weight of the elements of the periodic table and then he idly wondered how many of his brain cells had died from the sudden, violent blood loss as it all migrated…south. Probably far too many.

He knew she hadn't done it on purpose. She and Catherine both had the night off. She hadn't expected to be called in, to see him or rather, for him to see her.

And there was the whole thing where she hadn't spoken to him outside of work in five days. Wouldn't answer her door, wouldn't answer her landline, wouldn't answer her cell unless she was at work, so, she sure as hell wouldn't wear her blowjob lipstick if she knew she was going to see him…would she?

Or would she? Could it be her way of telling him she was ready to forgive him? He thought of how she had deliberately avoided making eye contact when he had stood up.

He sighed.

No, she hadn't done it on purpose.

_The fight should never have happened. _

_They had both come off of a grueling triple after the murder of a woman, her 2 year old daughter and 2 month old son while the woman's college professor husband had been at a conference. _

_It turned out the murderer was the husband's lover, a sophomore in his Introduction to Contemporary Literature course. Contemporary Literature was not all the young woman had been introduced to; lust and envy appeared to have made quite an impression as well._

_The professor was denying all involvement and the student was crying "I did it for him, he asked me to. He said it was the only way we could be together." _

_On some strange level Grissom understood the killing of the wife as the means to an end, but the murder of those two babies... it made his chest ache and his blood boil._

_On top of that he'd had to deal with a particularly pissy Ecklie over the damage Bobby had caused with an accidental discharge of a hand gun he'd been processing. Added to that was the threat of another seminar on Sexual Harassment in the Workplace when the Dayshift supervisor had come in early and discovered Archie and Judy making out in the supply closet._

_It had been a bitch of a night - and day._

_Mostly when he had arrived home, he had just wanted to unwind for a little while and then go to bed - not pick a fight. _

_She was sitting at his dining table still in her work clothes, writing out her monthly bills and he had made the mistake of commenting that if she would just go ahead and move in with him she wouldn't have to worry about at least half of those bills._

_She had paused in writing the check for her condo association dues and given him a raised eyebrow. "I don't think now is the best time to have this discussion." _

_Obviously her head had been a little clearer than his._

"_I don't understand why you won't move in here. You're here all the time anyway. You're making a mortgage payment on a very expensive closet." He knew he was being unnecessarily snippy but he was so tired. All of the frustrations of supervision and bureaucracy were weighing so heavily on him and all he could see was the bloody crib of that tiny little baby His face darkened and he clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles whitened._

"_Yeah, but it's my expensive closet." She ripped the check out of her checkbook and stuffed it into the envelope._

_He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that it? Fine. I'll put your name on the deed to my townhouse." The idea that she would need that from him irked him._

"_No, that's not it. I don't want my name on the deed to **your** townhouse," she picked up the pen and began writing out a check for her power bill._

"_Well, what the hell do you want? Other than to drive me insane?" He could hear himself getting aggressive and the rational part of his mind told him to back off; however, it was the grumpy, tired, frustrated part of his mind that appeared to have control of his mouth. He knew the path he was headed down was treacherous but he went anyway. _

"_Would you be willing to move into a new place with me?" She had slapped the pen down on the pile of bills and it made small but satisfying **thwack** sound._

_It was formed as a question, but was said in more of a "Iknowtheanswerisnotasnowballschanceinhellofthathappening" tone of voice._

"_Why would I want to do that? This place is perfect. It's big enough for both of us, it's close to the lab." His tone suggested she was an aggravating six year old with limited mental faculties. "I've lived here for sixteen years. Why would I want to move?"_

"_Exactly." She was stuffing the papers back into the file folder she had brought them in with a little more force than was strictly necessary; he should have seen it as a sign she was becoming agitated._

"_What exactly does **exactly** mean?" He knew he was pushing but he just seemed unable to stop._

"_If I move in, it won't matter how long I live here, you will always have lived here sixteen years longer than I have. It will always be your place." She secured the file folder with a clip and tossed it on top of her overnight bag that was still sitting by the door. "I might not spend much time there, but I have a home. I have spent enough of my life occupying other people's homes; you all say the same thing 'Make yourself at home' but if I try to make it my home, I am politely but firmly told why the glasses should be stored rim side up instead of rim side down or why that horribly uncomfortable and ugly sofa is perfect for that space." The words were reflections of things they had discussed but the pain on her face was older, and the hurt deeper._

_She was obviously serious about this; he knew he needed to shut up and they could talk about this when they were both rested and calmer. _

_Knowing and doing were two different things. His brain seemed to be on some sort of automatic pilot hell bent on self-destruction and his mouth was willingly following suit._

_He kept pushing, and she kept pushing back. _

_He belittled and she snarled._

_It escalated to a final horrific comment that he didn't mean and shouldn't have said, yet it came hurtling out of his mouth with the force of a cannon, "If being with me in my home is so objectionable to you then what are you still doing here? Get the hell out."_

_An indiscernible look flashed across her face, it exposed itself for just an instant, but after his temper had left him, he spent far too many hours over the next five days analyzing it. _

_In the end he'd concluded that there had been pain and desperation in her eyes along with what he would come to think of as a trace of "E tu, Grissom?" But he hadn't been able to process it standing there with his anger rolling off of him, heart clutched in the fear that his world was being threatened. _

_He'd never been one to take well to change and all he could think of was that she wanted to change him, by changing his comfortable life. _

_After all, hadn't he changed enough by allowing her in to his world, asking her to move into his home? Couldn't that be enough for her? Did she always have to have more?_

_The look had lasted about a second and then her face was as closed as his had ever been. "Done." Her purse was over her arm, her file folder in one hand and her overnight bag in the other and she was out the door before he could even utter her name._

_He knew it was the wrong thing to say on so many levels._

_He knew he was being an insensitive jackass._

_He was sorry the second he said it, but when the door slammed behind her he thought maybe they both needed a little time to calm down._

_It had taken less than two hours for him to come to his senses and try to call her. _

_He told himself at first she was asleep and didn't hear the cell phone or maybe it was turned off. _

_But when she didn't answer again after he woken from a fitful sleep, he realized that, the comfortable life he was so afraid of losing, wasn't damned near as comfortable without her in it._

_When he tried to corner her at work, she had directed a hard stare at his chin and said "No personal stuff at work. Isn't that Grissom's rule number one?" and turned on her heel and walked away. _

_He went to her condo after work, but she wouldn't answer the door; and he was afraid to use the key she had given him the year before. He was afraid for two reasons; first, she might mistake him for an intruder and shoot him and second, she might have changed the locks. He wasn't sure which of the two options held the most terror. If she had changed the locks that meant this wasn't just **a fight** it was, **the fight.** The fear of losing her versus his alarm at changing living arrangements began to look like a T-Rex compared to an ant._

_And now five days later, dread was starting to blossom into panic. _

_He tried to reason with himself; she had forgiven him much worse over the years, surely she could forgive him this? _

_He just needed to talk to her, to tell her he was sorry, to ask what to do to make it up to her._

He measured then photographed a twisted piece of charred metal where the garage doors had previously been.

He couldn't look at her now, and was grateful, for once, that she wasn't able to look at him. He didn't need to piss her off any more by letting her know he was fighting a raging hard-on, at a crime scene, when she wouldn't even speak to him.

And god, he missed her.

Not _just_ the sex; though, he had to admit, it was a big part of it; being over her, under her, on her, in her, all of it. He felt as if he was wandering the desert parched for the moistness of her lips and starving for the feel of her skin.

Some strands of black wire and shards of plastic, most likely from the bomb itself were less than a foot from the piece of metal. Mindlessly, he measured each piece, the distance between them, and photographed them separately and together, and then in relation to the piece of metal.

Sex aside, he missed **her.** He missed being with her, seeing her, touching her. He missed simply sleeping with her, holding her hand, reading an interesting paragraph out of a journal to her. He craved the way she smelled when she was warm and sleepy, missed listening to her complain about his recycling habits when she found a plastic bottle in the trash. He yearned to be standing in the middle of the kitchen; his arms around her, the two of them rocking back and forth in an unconscious, stuttering slow dance as they decided what to make for dinner.

"Grissom!" Nick's voice pulled him back to the crime scene. "You need to see this."

Drawn from his reverie, he trudged toward where Nick stood at the back of the garage, thankfully further away from Sara and her darkly tinted mouth,

He decided he had had enough of being without her. As soon as shift was over, he was going to get her back.

It turned out that the bomb had been planted by a lanky, pimply faced fifteen year old chemistry whiz with a huge Adam's apple who had tutored the Sheriff's niece in both math and science.

She had been aware he had a crush on her and led him to believe she felt the same, up until she aced her math midterm and he had done her science project for her. Then she made it clear she was too cool for him and no, he wasn't allowed to come to her Halloween party.

The red rimmed eyes of the teenager had cut back and forth between Grissom and Brass. "I wasn't trying to hurt anybody." His voice broke, whether from suppressed tears or fear they couldn't tell. "I just wanted her to know what I could do." Grissom had looked at the young man with an uncomprehending expression and Brass had simply shaken his head.

Grissom sighed as he approached Sara's door. What the kid had done hadn't physically hurt anyone but it had probably altered his potential for a very bright future into something that much less luminous.

The boy had irrevocably altered his life over a teenage crush.

'What fools we make of ourselves for love,' he thought as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and pressed the speed dial for her landline. With his free hand he began knocking on the door his ears picking up the sound of it ringing through the other side of the door. When her machine answered, he began, "It's me. I'm outside. I'd really like for you to let me in so we can talk." He could hear his own voice reverberating through her living room. He swallowed down his hope and nervousness as he continued knocking. "I'm not going away, Sara. If I have to stand here all day, I will."

He heard the chain slide off and the click-thunk of the deadbolt releasing. The door swung inwards and she leaned her shoulder against the door frame. She had changed into a pink tank top and a pair of plaid grey and pink pajama bottoms, most of her make-up was gone, but her lips were still darkly shaded. He told himself, quite sternly, not to think about it.

Her chest heaved in a deep sigh emphasizing her lack of bra under the tank, and he told himself not to think about that, either.

"Hey." She was eyeing him cautiously. He could see a little of the same hope and fear reflected in her eyes and it gave him both courage and encouragement.

Grissom hoped trying to lighten the mood would help move things along. "Will a sincere apology do or will extreme groveling be necessary?" he asked conversationally.

Her red lips twitched, faintly. "Depends…"

She hadn't started yelling yet, so he figured things were off to the best start possible. "Depends on what?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Whether you just want to get into my house or if you want to get into my pants." Her tone was half serious, half bantering.

"Groveling, it is..." His eyebrows rose in a mimic of hers.

She pursed her lips in an expression that could be best described as a mixture of grudging amusement and disgusted resignation as she stepped back from the door, "Come in."

He stepped in and she closed the door.

"Do you want something to drink?" She indicated her tiny kitchen with an airy wave of her hand.

He took a chance and entered her personal space. "No, I just want to apologize, throw myself on your mercy and see what I can do to make it up to you." His expression was one of earnest sincerity. He hadn't touched her, yet, but he was encouraged by the fact she hadn't moved away. "Sara, Honey, I'm really sorry. I was really tired and frustrated and I took it out on you. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you." He dipped his head and breathed in the clean scent of her, inching just a little closer to her, still not daring to make physical contact yet, but within holding distance of her.

She sighed again and he watched her chew on her bottom lip.

Finally, after what felt like forever she spoke, "Here's the thing, Gris. You hurt me…"

He started to interrupt but she covered his mouth with her fingers. "And I needed a little time to get over that. But we…neither of us is perfect, we're going to make mistakes. I, uh, figure that we've got a few free passes to give each other." Her dark eyes glittered against the pale skin of her face; her full mouth slightly pursed as she studied him.

He kissed her fingers. "Free passes?"

Oh, thank God, she was going to forgive him, a relieved sigh whispered its way through the tension of his body.

"Yeah, like, ok, you've used up your free pass to yell at me to get out." She looked away from him trying to hide how the next words she was about to say were affecting her. "The next one will cost you permanently."

His heart rate increased a little. He could have lost her, and if she hadn't been so damned used to forgiving him when he was being an insensitive asshole, he probably would have. "How many of these free passes do I have?"

"Oh, depends on the severity of the offense. Repeat offenses are ill advised." She arched an eyebrow at him as she issued the warning. "And no free passes for infidelity, in case you're wondering."

He moved closer to her, smiling just a little. "I won't ever need one." He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, inhaling her scent, vanilla with a touch of lemon. "You're all I need, Sara. I wouldn't…" he shook his head "I couldn't ever cheat on you. I love you and I'm sorry." Tentatively, he slipped his arms around her waist. "I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. Sometimes…sometimes I'm afraid I'm going to cease to exist, just be consumed by how I feel about you and it's frightening."

She made a wordless sound and slipped her arms around his neck.

He shuddered and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. "I **am** sorry, Sara." It was a relief to hold her again, like some unseen, unknown pressure had been released inside of his chest.

"I'm sorry, too. I was pretty obnoxious, you, uh, you were just better at it." She kissed the side of his mouth.

He moved his lips to catch hers before she could move away.

It was a brief kiss that both filled him with relief and made him want more. "I put the townhouse up for sale." The comment was made matter-of-factly, but he watched her keenly for her reaction.

She drew back from him, but his arms tightened around her waist so she couldn't go far. "What?"

He shrugged. "I thought about what you said and you were right. We need a place together." There was no fear in his eyes now, only calm certainty.

"Are you serious?" Her eyes were huge.

"Yeah…I want to live with you and if we start someplace fresh together, well, neither of us has a home field advantage so to speak," his words were measured and reasonable but he felt himself staring at her lips. "We can go look this weekend, if you want," he offered. "I'm supposed to call the Realtor today and tell her whether we want a bigger townhouse or if we're looking for a house with a yard."

"Oh my god…! You **are** serious." A delighted smile was stealing across her face.

"Mmmhmm," he hummed against her neck, and pressed his mouth against the tender pulse point there. Her skin tasted sweet, and he suckled it slightly before moving back to her lips, and pressing his own against them. "God I missed you…" he mumbled against her mouth, pulling her body closer to his. "Missed the way you taste, missed the way you smell, missed the way you feel, missed** you**." He was pressing kisses her her lips and the corners of her mouth as he spoke.

He was making love to her with his words. They flowed across her skin with his breath and made her weak with need. She had missed him, too and felt the beginning sparks of arousal tingling through her.

"Gris," she sighed against him and he heard the longing in the breathing of his name.

"Shhh," he pressed his mouth against any other words. After all, no other words were really necessary.

Silenced, his tongue gently probed her swollen lips hungrily, desperately seeking entry.

When she gasped he took advantage, his tongue sneaking in and exploring the sensitive confines of her mouth, a sensual dance ensuing.

He loved the wet heat of her mouth, the caress of her tongue, the vibration of her moans.

Then, he kissed her.

Really kissed her…

It was an _I've had to live for five days without kissing you_, kind of kiss.

Hungrily, his tongue invaded her mouth - claiming her, possessing her, because in his eyes she was his and he was desperate for the taste of her on his lips.

Meeting him in equal measure, her tongue thrashed against his. Taking advantage of her tongue's movements he sucked it into his mouth, his hands at the same time tracing the gentle swell of her ass and alternately grinding her hips against his.

He broke away a jagged breath escaping him as his focus shifted.

Perhaps it was her penchant for whimpering softly at his caresses, but his attention was inexplicably drawn to the delicate curve of her earlobe. His mouth moved to it; suckling it wetly, while his tongue danced hotly across it.

She gave a little laugh, "I guess you did miss me." A telltale, dampness grew between her legs, saturating the delicate silk of her panties.

From the beginning, she'd been a helpless slave to her desire for him. He was her addiction, her drug and the antidote all rolled into one fascinatingly sexy package.

"Oh, yeah," he fervently agreed, rubbing his growing erection against her. A tight hiss escaped his clenched teeth when her hand reached between their bodies to stroke him through his pants.

"I missed you, too," her voice was a throaty growl as her free hand worked the buttons loose on his shirt.

When his moist lips moved down her neck sucking, nibbling and licking, she was suddenly lost. Her reaction was primal as her head fell back and she moaned uncontrollably.

"Show me." He could feel her hardened nipples straining against her tank top and one big hand left her ass and snaked under her shirt to run fingers over her breast and caress the nipple. His other hand slid into her pajama pants and squeezed the flesh of her rounded bottom, eliciting another moan from her.

His digits danced over the skin of her hip and glided unerringly to her center.

At first touch she bucked.

"That's right." He ordered, the tremor in his voice betraying his own thinning restraint. "Show me you missed me."

His right hand massaged her left breast under her shirt and he moved his head down to take her right nipple into his mouth thoroughly drenching the thin material of her top. The broad brush of his tongue caused the cotton of her tank to rub excruciatingly against the hardened peak eliciting a thick animalistic groan from the back of her throat.

He loved the noises she made, and the distinctly sensual way she gasped out "Gris…" as some sort of sexual supplication.

His index finger skated lightly over her clit, and slipped briefly into her, before skating back over it again, a wet luscious trail of Sara following in its wake.

He was kissing her neck with sloppy open mouth kisses mentally devouring her little moans and pants as he repeated the motion, again and again.

She rocked against his thick finger and whimpered slightly.

"Hmm? You want more?" Grissom teased in a rough, knowing voice. Her living room was beginning to fill with the hot scent of sex.

She could only gasp and nod, incapable of even the simplest one syllable word, the electric, thrumming need at her center was so intense.

"Maybe this?" He slid two fingers deep into her and began rubbing her clit with his thumb applying just the right amount of blissful pressure.

The sound she made could not be classified as a scream, but it was more than a moan. And it was appreciative, hungry and desperate.

He setup a rhythm, a perfect sinful rhythm, counting out beats in answer to her wordless cries and singing gasps. "That's right, Baby."

He only called her Baby during sex, "I want you to come for me…come hard for me…show me, show me how much you missed me."

Sara felt as though she were running - running up a hill winding herself tighter and tighter and if she could just run just a little faster, just a little harder she would be at the top of the hill.

Just a little faster…

Just a little harder…

The tension was so incredibly tight…

Just one little tiny push more and she wasn't running at all…

She was flying…

She was falling…

Then she was floating and he was holding her up; his thick arms wrapped tightly around her, supporting her after she'd slumped bonelessly against him. With something akin to reverence his hands were stroking down her back, his fingers soothing her with soft caresses.

He waited until she was able to meet his eyes again. "Bedroom," he suggested.

She pressed herself up against the hard length of him and smiled. "Yes, please."

They urged each other out of their clothes as they went so by the time they stood beside the bed their mouths engaged in another deep kiss, they were skin on skin. Her long elegant fingers wrapped around him with firm velvet strokes. She watched his face as she ran her tongue over her still darkly stained lips and listened, enthralled, as he groaned her name.

She dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Sara, not now, I don't think I can last." His voice was urgently guttural and the need there skated down her spine in a delicate shiver.

She reached out to cup his balls and smiled sweetly up at him, "I bet you can last for a little while."

She loved touching him, tasting him.

He was so hot in her hands and her mouth.

She reveled in the feel of soft skin wrapped around his hot male hardness, she loved the press of it against her fingers, her palms, her lips, her tongue…

Delicately, she ran her tongue over the smooth suede tip of his erection and he hissed, his thick animated hands burying themselves in her hair.

Running the tip of her tongue, in one quick motion, down the underside of his shaft and then back up again, she smiled slightly at the tight moan that escaped his chest. She nestled her nose, briefly, against his wiry grey curls surrounding the base of his erection and breathed in his tangy, musky scent before gently biting her cheeks to cause an influx of saliva into her mouth. Then in one quick, and calculated move she sucked him as far into her mouth as she could.

"Jesus, Sara!" He thought she might still be mad after all and this was her devious plan to kill him.

But what a way to go.

She slowed, her mouth sliding slickly onto him and just as slowly pulling off of him in long agonizingly purposeful strokes, then after a few repetitions she would suck him quickly in.

Grissom saw spots before his eyes. He was certain if death wasn't imminent then insanity was. He felt himself begin to tighten and pulled her up from the floor, pushing her onto the bed.

"Need you," he growled. "Need to be in you." His words were rough tinged with desperation.

"Yes," she whimpered as her back met the cool cotton of the sheets.

He climbed onto the bed and straddled her; taking a moment to calm himself otherwise he knew he'd come on his first thrust. He studied her laid out beneath him.

Sara was a carnal feast of sensual enchantment. Her eyes were half closed, her hair was fanned out across the pillow, and her nipples were dark and hard. Her mouth, her sweet wet mouth was still dark in spite of the passionate kisses and intense fellatio.

His eyes darkened and she smiled at him, "What?"

"One of these days I'm going to fuck that lipstick right off of your mouth."

She wriggled and slid down the bed under him, rubbing his bobbing erection against her belly and breasts as she slithered down the bed then back up again, listening to his sharp intake of breath. "No time like the present," she murmured throatily, writhing as the length of him pressed against the juncture at her thighs.

He put one hand on her hip to hold her in place as he sank one finger into her; a dangerous, feral smile spreading across his face as she bucked against him. There was an obscenely slick squelching sound confirming she was still very wet and completely ready for him.

Impatient, Sara reached between them and wrapped her long fingers around him taking a moment to stroke him against her dripping cleft and press his head against her clit, massaging him against her until he moaned, "Sar-a." He was hungry for her and so hard he hurt. She guided him into her; a mutual sigh escaping them both as he pushed his hips forward and buried himself all the way in her.

This was the moment to rival orgasm: the first moment of filling and being filled, whole and complete. They held there, completely in the moment, totally in the here and now, savoring the feeling of each other until more primal urges nudged them on and they started moving against each other.

They rocked against each other at first just simply enjoying the sensation, then he pulled back, nearly out and slid back in, and she wrapped her legs around him, her hips moving to meet him. They were slow at first, his pelvis rubbing hers oh so deliciously in all of the right places as he set the pace , her body controlled by its own primitive need surged up to meet him.

It was so fucking good, the slide, the pressure, the release.

"So good, so good" she mumbled each time he bumped her just right and she gasped against his shoulders. And with each of her gasps there was an answering grunt from him,

"Oh, Baby, so wet…so tight…so good," and the pace increased just a little more each time until it was simply a frenzy of cries and movement.

She just needed a little bit more, a fierce, "Oh God…" falling from her lips and she increased the rhythm of her hips, angling upwards in an attempt to take him deeper.

Unable to control himself he grunted, "Gonna come" and slammed into her sending her crashing into her own orgasm.

She cried out as his thrusts became erratic and she finally felt the pulse of him inside her.

He kept himself from collapsing onto her, though she could tell he wanted to.

He was lost in her, absently pressing little kisses onto her face and neck. "Missed you." His voice was thick and fuzzy as he rolled them onto their sides. "Love you." He pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Love you, too." She kissed him back sweetly.

They were silent for awhile and she knew he was well on his way to sleep. "Gris?"

"Mmm?" He pulled her tighter into him.

"Were you serious? About getting a place together?"

He didn't open his eyes, only nodded and hummed the affirmative, "Mmm-hmm."

"We gotta get a new couch." She snuggled into his chest.

"Why?" It was a barely conscious mumble.

"Neither of our couches is big enough to have sex on."

One blue eye popped open and studied his smiling bedfellow. He kissed her again. "Do we need to have sex on a sofa?" He yawned.

"Well, if we get a place together, it's imperative that we have sex in every room to christen it. Therefore, we need a new couch…"

"Oh," he laughed, and then felt a tickle of anticipation in his brain. "Excellent point," he conceded.

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed back at him and they settled, into each others arms, into sleep.


End file.
